


The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

by ItsMiki



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Coffee, Espionage, Houston Spies (Blaseball Team), Other, redacted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsMiki/pseuds/ItsMiki
Summary: Fitz gets coffee, waiting for the rest of his team to meet up. They are left to their own thoughts until a fan approaches.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

The Houston heat traced waving lines through the air down the street. Fitzgerald’s steps were quick and silent. The Spies often met before their matches for coffee, at an unspecified time and an unspecified place. A small tradition between friends. Fitz felt the air jitter and dance with heat but the heat itself was absent- the perks of their creation. Civilians rushed about, keeping to shade to avoid the sun beating down. For a moment, their gaze traced the shadows, lingering with pangs of envy. Fitz walked on. They felt a gaze or two dart to them before shifting away.  


They muttered something quiet to themself. Blackburn doubted they’d ever get used to being on a team like this. It was poor form for a spy to be a public figure. Even poorer for a team of them to be. That’s not to say their operations slowed following their addition to the team- far from it actually. Someone up top figured being a Blaseball team helped cover for large-scale coordinated movements. It just so happens that this was the purpose for which they were created, as far as they were aware. Memories from before then were too fuzzy to place. A lab. Bright lights. A Sunset. Disorienting Noise. Words so quiet they worm their way below your skull.  


It didn’t matter.  


They were here now.  


It didn’t matter.  


Fitz’s hand pressed against the firm metal of the cafe door. There was no rhythm to which cafe the team went to- that was the point. Even the rest of the team was not informed ahead of time. As such, Fitz would arrive roughly eight hours before their game as a courtesy to allow the others to find them. This had the adverse effect of giving them time to ponder the meaning of their existence, something they’d perhaps been doing too much lately.  
Fitz strolled to the counter of the coffee shop- “The Dancing Bean”. They leaned cooly against it while a notable amount of disconcerted discomfort was visible on the barista’s face, “Wh-What uh, can I get you, M-Mr-” he squeaked out,  


“Blackburn. Just Blackburn.” Their voice corrected the barista in a calm tone.  


“Ah, what can I get you uh, Blackburn?”  


“An Americano- Two shots of espresso.”  


The Barista gave a quick nod before punching the numbers into the register. It was a bit overpriced, but not terribly. He seemed to be gradually growing used to the presence of the unusual individual before him. Meanwhile, Fitz wasted little time transitioning to a table by the window. For the first time, Fitz’s eyes traced around the cafe itself. The place was a bit oldschool- wood interior, chalkboard menu, slightly jazzy music playing from anachronistic-looking speakers. There were a few other patrons as well, including what looked like a kid and her parents, a woman studying frantically in one of the corners, and a couple businessmen meeting up for coffee. The kid locked eyes with them before turning to its parents and frantically trying to get their attention. Fitz’s brow quirked, but their attention was pulled away as the barista brought them their drink.  


They took a sip of the hot drink, not letting it cool, mostly because they didn’t need to. The barista made a motion of protest at first, but upon seeing Fitz not reacting to the heat, his brow pinched and he decided to just make his way back to the counter. Fitz watched before their gaze drifted to the window, waiting for their fellow teammates. Mentally, they made a small bet on who would find them first- Math this time. Though, Son had the intuition..  


Their hand darts to their coffee as the table gets nudged. Annoyance is visible beneath the shadows as their gaze finds the source… then softens. A small, somewhat pudgy hispanic kid looks up at them with awe, curly hair bouncing with her excitement. In her hands is a blaseball card. _“You’re Fitzgerald Blackburn, right?!”_ The kid asks with a mix of nervousness and pure joy. Fitz eyes the kid for a moment, confused, “Yesss…?”  
The kid looks like they just told her they’d buy her a puppy, “Oh! You’re my favorite favorite!” she chimes, bouncing on her feet, “You’re soooooo cool!” Fitz’s gaze darts between the kid, the card, and her parents before coming back to her. They were more than a little caught off guard- Fans were a massive part of Blaseball, but for the Hades Tigers, not the spies. They’d heard this script before, but never from this angle.  


“Can I have your autograph!?” The kid blurts out, closing her eyes for a moment and shoving the card forward. Fitz pauses for a moment before plucking the card from her hands. Sure enough, it was one of them from some time during their first season. They let out a small noise of appraisal before pulling a pen from their coat and signing it.  


All the while, the kid rambled excitedly, “My sister likes York!” she exclaimed, “But I wanna cheer on my home team! You always hit right when you need to- Fitz Gets Hits!”  


They couldn’t stifle the wide smile growing on their lips, “Who do you want me to make this out to?” they finally asked.  
“Ally! Ally Ways!” the girl chimed with a smile to match Fitz’s. With a small flourish, they put the pen away and offered the card back to the girl. She gazed at it in awe for what felt like a minute before she snapped back into focus, “Oh!” the frantically searched her person, pulling a quizzical look from Fitz before she offered a small envelope to them, around the size of a postcard, “I-I want you to have this! I-It’s a trade, okay?”  


Fitz’s smile widened as they graciously took the envelope and inspected it. It was held closed by a small sun sticker. “I’ll accept this trade” they responded after making a small show of looking it over, much to the girl’s excitement. The girl quickly rushed back to her parents, showing the card off to them.  


Fitz let out a small chuckle, sipping their coffee. For a moment, they debated whether or not to open the envelope, or just keep it. However, their own excitement overtook them as they flicked the envelope open, pulling a postcard within.  
They paused.  


Their coffee grew cold.  
In a type-writer font, the postcard was as follows,  
**“4;9;19;20;18;9;3;20;0;4;9;18;5;3;20;15;18  
SMAEBNUS NIW POTS EGATOBAS EHT SLANIF ROF SA GNOL SA ELBISSOP POTS NOITCARTSID SI YRASSECEN POTS**

Fitz’s gaze held on the postcard for what felt like minutes before their eyes turned to where the family had been, now gone. They let out a long breath, putting the postcard back in the envelope and into their coat. They took a sip of their coffee. They didn’t need to feel it to know what it felt like to drink cold coffee. Fitz closed their eyes and leaned back, waiting for their team to arrive.


End file.
